


makes you wanna feel, makes you wanna try

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Consensual Infidelity, Drugs, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Slow Burn, Unsafe Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5146970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by <a href="http://skyelining.tumblr.com/post/99757391696/in-the-wake-of-that-episode-i-like-to-imagine">this tumblr post:</a> "in the wake of that episode, i like to imagine twelve and clara just going bananas, hopping from planet to planet like people possessed. running so fast, riding on each other’s high, being giddy and dumb. the doctor’s just so relieved that clara isn’t leaving, and clara’s glad she hasn’t because she never really wanted to anyway. not really, not forever, if she’s honest with herself. i just- i have a lot of emotions about these two idiots."</p><p>Since I also have a lot of emotions about these two idiots, I decided to write about them. Basically, "The Mummy on the Orient Express" is the gift that keeps on giving.</p>
    </blockquote>





	makes you wanna feel, makes you wanna try

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this tumblr post:](http://skyelining.tumblr.com/post/99757391696/in-the-wake-of-that-episode-i-like-to-imagine) "in the wake of that episode, i like to imagine twelve and clara just going bananas, hopping from planet to planet like people possessed. running so fast, riding on each other’s high, being giddy and dumb. the doctor’s just so relieved that clara isn’t leaving, and clara’s glad she hasn’t because she never really wanted to anyway. not really, not forever, if she’s honest with herself. i just- i have a lot of emotions about these two idiots."
> 
> Since I also have a lot of emotions about these two idiots, I decided to write about them. Basically, "The Mummy on the Orient Express" is the gift that keeps on giving.

He wants to show her the universe and how vast it can be because she's relentless. It makes him breathless and excited like he's seeing everything for the first time. He's got so much to show her that they just start running, eager to take it all in.

He takes her to a planet that's eternal night, lit only by constantly falling stars. It's an empty, tiny planet, with just a meadow and a lake and all those stars for their company. He brings a blanket and a bottle of wine for them to enjoy as they stargaze. "Is this a date?" she asks, suddenly, and he can feel her walls going up. "Only if you want it to be," he returns. "Cheers." So they spend their not-date trading the bottle back and forth as they watch the stars fall.

One of the planets has a glass sky. All the aliens there look like sculptures. He tells her to be careful, and she is - that is, she really tries, but somehow one or the other of them still ends up breaking an alien arm. It shatters into a hundred tiny pieces. Neither of them knows what else to do, so they run back to the TARDIS feeling half-guilty but mostly laughing hysterically with how ridiculous it is - the idea that an alien can just crumble like that. Clara shimmers under the glass sky and he pulls her to safety inside the TARDIS, still laughing.

The next world is much scarier, much more of an adventure than he had planned it to be. No glittering glass aliens here, only an empty, stone, ruined planet and a pervading sense of dread. Clara sticks close to him, eyes wide and nervous, and she asks him over and over just to make sure that he's got a plan, right? Everything is going to be just fine, right? Because he's the Doctor, and you don't just climb over things like that without some sense of where you're going and what's going to happen - Then he falls over the stone wall he'd been climbing on, and she screams, and there's viney tentacles everywhere, and they very nearly don't make it out alive. After that, in the TARDIS, she's shaking, and her hands are clenched into fists. "You could've gotten yourself killed. You could've gotten me killed!" she protests.

Neither of them bring up regenerations, which are still something of a sore point. He looks at her and feels sad: he just wanted to show her everything because she's so wide-eyed, excited, curious about the world. "Come here, you," she says tiredly. She's got a handkerchief and some sort of human medicine which she uses to clean up the cuts on his face, his arms. "Seems like you're the doctor," he jokes, and despite herself, Clara smiles.

After that, she asks him if they can go somewhere fun. So they spend a week in the 1960s living in a posh flat in London, getting ridiculously, blissfully high, bumming around Carnaby Street, and listening to records. It's a nice break, he admits to himself, watching her twirl in front of the mirror in this tiny, burgundy-painted shop that smells faintly of patchouli.

They head back to the flat, Clara swinging a shopping bag on her arm. He puts on "You Really Got Me" and rolls a joint, smoking idly as he watches her try on her new clothes. "What d'you think?" she asks, posing.

He never knows how to respond when she asks him that, so he makes what he hopes is an approving noise. Clara rolls her eyes and takes the joint. He watches her smoke, her lips pursed so carefully, and thinks, fuck yes, Davies, she's really got me.

"What was that look?" she demands suddenly. "What look?" he returns, honestly curious. "You know, that look. The besotted look. The proud-of-me look. The one you give me when you think I'm not paying attention."

He makes a vague, flailing gesture and she laughs at him. "C'mere." Both of them shuffle towards each other and he laughs, too, caught up in the awkwardness. Clara kisses him in an inquisitive sort of way and he fumbles with her garters. She helps him out of his Chelsea boots, his trousers, his waistcoat. In the midst of messing with the buttons, she mutters, blushing, "Why did people back then wear so many clothes? It's a wonder they ever managed to have sex!"

He wants to ask her about Danny, about all the what-ifs this is going to entail. However, Clara seems to be a bit psychic too because she holds up a hand to stop him. "Please don't. This is what I want right now." Simple as that, so he kisses her again and when she opens her mouth and draws her tongue against his, her movements take a lot of his coherent thoughts and carry them in a more downstairs direction.

Evidently men in the 1960s had excellent taste in undergarments, because he's sporting a truly fantastic pair of colorful silky boxers. It nearly kills the mood until he watches Clara unhook her own garters. (Just as well, he'd never have been able to solve a contraption like that.)

"This era did a lot better for women's underthings," he observes dryly as he takes in the sight of Clara in a lacy bullet bra and high-waisted panties. "Shut up," she retorts, undoing the clasps of her bra and rolling down her underpants. When she bends over to drop them onto her dress, he feels so utterly grateful that he's lived long enough to see something like that. That she's here with him.

Clara takes his cock and guides it inside herself, sighs when it's all the way in. She sets the pace, lifting and lowering herself slowly at first, then faster; it's all he can do not to roll them both over and give it to her hard as he watches her get herself off. She braces one hand against his chest, feeling both his heartbeats. It feels like it takes forever - feels like he could do this forever - when she starts to contract around him. "Please - cum inside me - " she says, biting down on her lower lip. Of course he will; he could do anything for her if she asked. He feels every heavy pulse low in his stomach as she continues to clench against him. She pulls off and he watches it all slide thickly down her thighs. "Thank you," she says quietly, nestling into him.

He kisses the top of her head. "Were you really going to leave?" he asks.

"No, not forever. I didn't want to, anyway."

"But?"

She doesn't answer. It just becomes part of the rhythm, then, their sleeping together: another layer of their adventures as they journey through galaxies, solar systems, endless worlds. It's her life with him, and he wants to hold onto it for as long as he can.


End file.
